by Darcy Burke
“Chudleigh Crest,” Emma said. “It’s a small village in Berkshire.”
“Yes, well, you can’t be blamed for not comprehending the grandeur and sophistication of our family seat. Not everyone can understand—unlike my dear Alaric.” The storm left her eyes as suddenly as it had come, replaced by a misty, faraway look. “He took to life at Strathmore like a fish to water. He adored it at first sight, and well he should: ’tis in his blood, after all. Coming to my dear duke and I—well, it was like coming home.”
“It was kind of you to take Strathaven in,” Emma ventured.
“It was my husband’s idea. He knew how terribly I missed our son and wanted to give me comfort.” Lady Patrice’s bottom lip quivered. “Alaric filled a void in our lives—and, I like to think, we in his. He suffered a grave illness, you know, and I nursed him through it.”
“He speaks of your great care and devotion to him,” Emma said sincerely.
The dowager gave her a beatific smile. “Does he?”
“Most definitely.”
“I do worry about him. His health. And now this murder business.” In a sudden blur of motion, Lady Patrice rose to her feet and began to pace. “I wonder how he is. I should not have let him go alone. What if something happens …?”
“I’m certain he’s fine. He’s with our brother, Mr. McLeod, and the others.”
The dowager did not seem to hear Emma’s reassurances, her agitation feeding upon itself. She wrung a handkerchief between her hands, darting from place to place, her movements like that of a crazed hummingbird. Clearly, she was worrying herself into a frenzy.
“Gadzooks,” Vi whispered, “do something, Em.”
“Er, perhaps you’d like a stroll in the square, Your Grace?” Emma said.
“A stroll?” the older lady said blankly.
“Fresh air can be very calming to the constitution,” she said.
The lines smoothed from Lady Patrice’s expression; her smile jolted like lightning through thunderheads. “That sounds lovely. Let us go.”
Pleading fatigue, Thea stayed home, leaving Emma and Vi to accompany Lady Patrice. Jim the footman followed at a discreet distance, and Emma began to relax into the beauty of the summer afternoon. The park in the middle of the square was tranquil, a leafy green oasis filled with birdsong. If it were not for the surrounding townhouses, she could almost imagine that she was on one of her old walks through the countryside.
Vi scampered off, her coltish stride unable to accommodate a sedate pace. As Emma walked more leisurely along the pebbled path with Lady Patrice, the latter seemed to calm.
“How charming,” the dowager said with a sigh. “Back at Strathmore, I take a daily morning constitutional on the banks of the loch. There’s something very soothing about the water. Strathaven adored it when he was a boy.”
“What was he like when he was a boy?” Emma said.
“Oh, he was handsome and clever,” the other said, smiling. “He takes after my own dear duke, you know. Strathaven men are always ambitious. They don’t sit on their laurels, content with the title and what they’ve inherited. They want more. They thrive on success and power.”
Sounds like Alaric, Emma thought wryly.
“And they marry ladies who support their noble aspirations. My husband and I used my dowry to add two new wings to the castle,” Lady Patrice said proudly.
Emma hadn’t considered what wealth she’d bring to Alaric; to her, he hardly seemed to need more money. But maybe, as far as the upper classes were concerned, one could never have too much. Ambrose would certainly not allow her to go to her future husband empty-handed, yet any dowry of hers would definitely not add a wing to an ancestral home.
Emma felt a sudden pang as she imagined the advantages to Alaric if he married an heiress, a lady of his own class.
“Oh dear. I’ve spoken too candidly.” Lady Patrice bit her lip, her eyes clouded. “Forgive me, Miss Kent. My words have a way of running away from me. I hope I have not offended you.”
“You haven’t. I just hadn’t given much thought to the connection between money and marriage,” Emma admitted.
“Which is most charming and refreshing. And why, I think, Strathaven has taken such an interest in you.” When Emma blushed, Lady Patrice said indulgently, “Oh yes, my dear, I can tell which way the wind blows. And if I may be so bold … do you return his regard?”
Emma gave a shy nod.
“I am glad to hear it. I like you, my dear, much more than his last duchess.” The dowager gave a soft harrumph. “Laura might have been rich and beautiful, but she was also a spoiled, demanding chit. My poor boy did what he could to please her, but it was never enough. For that reason alone, I could not like her.”
“Of course,” Emma murmured.
“He needs someone to nurture him, to devote herself entirely to his happiness and the care of the family estate. My boy deserves nothing less. You will do that for him, won’t you, Miss Kent?”
The other’s fervent scrutiny was rather unnerving. Emma didn’t think now was the time to share that, in addition to her wifely duties, she planned to pursue her passion for investigation.
“We’ve certainly discussed the merits of partnership,” she hedged. “Of respecting and supporting one another—”
A rustling sounded behind them. Some sixth sense made her turn around ...
... in time to see a dark-garbed villain bash Jim in the head with a cudgel. With a groan, the footman crumpled to the ground. The cutthroat advanced toward Emma and the frozen dowager. Emma grabbed onto Patrice, dragging her backward. Only to collide into a brick wall of a chest—another cutthroat had snuck up behind them.
A thick piece of cloth muffled Emma’s scream. She struggled against her captor, a sweet pungent smell burning through her nostrils, her throat. Her strength floated from her, and the world dissolved into a cloud of darkness.
Chapter 31
Miss Kitty Germaine, Mercer’s mistress, occupied a small, neat house on Henrietta Street. Clad in a filmy, flesh-colored robe, she received Alaric, Will, and Kent in a parlor done in a palette that strategically complimented her brunette coloring. By Alaric’s reckoning, this was a woman with a calculating bent. Despite her classical looks, he sensed a hardness to Miss Germaine, a cynicism that was beginning to etch lines around her eyes and mouth.
The profession of a mistress was, undoubtedly, a difficult one.
“Mercer’s not here,” she said matter-of-factly after they’d been seated. “And to save you the trouble: no, I haven’t the faintest notion where he’s gone.”
“How do you know we’re here because of Mercer?” Will demanded.
“Well, now, are you here for another reason, love? Because I do have a weakness for strapping men.” Her dark gaze encompassed all of them, lingering on Alaric. “And, my, what fine specimens you are.”
“We know Mercer was here,” Will said doggedly.
“He was.” Her shoulders lifted lazily. “Now he is not.”
“He is wanted for murder,” Kent said, “and unless you want to be charged as an accomplice—”
“Murder?” The languidness fled her expression. “The earl?”
“He has attempted to kill me twice,” Alaric said, “and shot another man in cold blood. He is not the sort of protector a woman would wish for.”
Beneath her subtle, artfully applied paint, Miss Germaine’s cheeks paled. “He isn’t—my protector, I mean. We parted ways a month ago.”
“Then why was he here?” Alaric said evenly.
“He said he’d run into a spot of trouble and needed a place to spend the night.” Her throat bobbed. “I didn’t have any cust—company planned, so I let him stay.”
“You have no idea where he’s headed?” Kent said.
“He left before dawn. Didn’t say goodbye.” Licking her lips nervously, she added, “My maid said she looked out the window and saw him with some unsavory characters. Apparently, they all took off in a coach together, and the t
op was packed with trunks. That’s all I know.”
Alaric didn’t detect any falsehoods. “Why did your arrangement with Mercer end?”
“Money,” she said succinctly. “Specifically, his lack thereof. Some conniver bilked him of his fortune—he’d turn apoplectic whenever he talked about it.”
Alaric exchanged grim glances with the other men. Apparently Mercer had rewritten history to make himself out to be the victim—perhaps he even believed his own false tales, used them to justify all the evil that he’d done. There was no telling what such a man was capable of.
Urgency and frustration filled him. He had to find Mercer, put an end to this chaos.
Then he could start a new life with Emma.
Her poise returning, Miss Germaine said coyly, “Being as selective as I am about my friendships, it has not been easy to find a truly rich and powerful patron.”
“I wish you luck.” Bridling with impatience, Alaric rose. “Thank you for your time.”
“Leaving so soon? Perhaps you’d like some refreshment—”
A pounding sounded on the front door. A minute later, Cooper entered the room, and Alaric’s insides chilled when he saw the harsh set of the guard’s features.
“What is it, Cooper?” he said.
“Mercer’s kidnapped Miss Kent and the dowager,” the guard said tersely, holding out a note. “He’s demanding ransom.”
The world came slowly into view. In the dim light, Emma made out wooden walls, a shuttered window, a table and stool … she was in a tiny cabin of some sort. And it was ... rocking?
Where am I?
Emma registered that she was laying on a cot. She managed to sit up and get woozily to her feet. She stumbled a few steps, heard the clanking of metal, felt a jerk on her ankle. Looking down, she saw that a manacle and short chain anchored her right foot to the bed.
She and the dowager had been kidnapped.
Memories returned in hazy snippets, accompanied by the sweet, sickening scent of ether. A carriage ride through darkness. Being hauled up a gangway … Yes, she could smell the tang of sea air now. She was on a ship.
Dear God, where was Lady Patrice?
A faint sound made her look up. There was a bunk above her own, a small figure upon it. Standing on her tiptoes, Emma verified with relief that it was indeed the dowager. Other than the rise and fall of her thin chest, the lady lay still as death, the stone of her ring gleaming like blood upon her waxen hand.
“Lady Patrice,” Emma whispered urgently.
No reply. The poor thing was heavily drugged. The bastards—how could they treat a defenseless elderly woman in this despicable manner?
Footsteps approached. Before Emma could return to the cot, the door opened, and a tall blond man holding a lamp stepped inside. As he set the light on the table, its flickering glow gave his handsome face a demonic cast. His cravat was elegantly knotted, his wool overcoat lavishly embroidered. She recognized him from the Blackwood ball—one of the men who had disparaged Alaric’s venture.
“You’re Lord Mercer,” she said, her gaze narrowing.
He smiled thinly and bowed. “Welcome aboard my vessel, Miss Kent.”
“You had better release us this instant.” She angled her chin up. “If you don’t, you’ll regret being born when Strathaven and my brother find us. And I promise you they will.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it, Miss Kent. You are my insurance, you see, and my ticket to a new life. I’ve been watching Strathaven, and I know he’ll do anything to have you.” Mercer smirked. “That is, if he hasn’t already had you.”
Emma stumbled back when Mercer came toward her, trapping her against the frame of the bed. His pungent cologne wound into her nostrils, and she shrank away, her skin crawling as he pressed himself up against her.
“I wonder,” he said, his breath hot against her cheek, “what talents could a country miss possess to enthrall a man like Strathaven? I have a mind to see for myself.”
“Get away from me, you bounder!”
Her lungs seized as he fingered a fallen tress of her hair. She felt a revolting poke against her thigh, the thing hard and … sharp? The realization struck her: the object prodding her wasn’t his manhood—but a ... key.
He let her go. “Time to sample your charms later. For now,” he said with a sneer, “I have a welcome to prepare for your duke. He should be arriving anytime now.”
Emma thought quickly. “He won’t fall into your trap. He’s too clever for that.”
Mercer turned a livid shade. “He’ll dance like a puppet on strings if he wants you and his aunt alive.” His manicured fingers curled like claws. “I am dictating the terms now—not him.”
Sensing the crazed fury beneath the polished facade, Emma knew she’d hit upon his weakness. She had to use his vanity to her advantage. Just have to get him closer …
“Strathaven is going to crush you,” she taunted. “You don’t stand a chance.”
She yelped when Mercer grabbed her by the hair. He yanked hard, jerking her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes, which were dilated with fury. She feigned fear, twisting as if to get away from him, angling her hand toward the pocket of his overcoat …
“Shut your mouth, bitch,” he spat. “If it weren’t for the interfering bastard, I’d be a rich man by now. My scheme was brilliant; I stood to make a fortune. But Strathaven ruined it all. Thanks to him, not only did I lose my money—now I have Billings’ underworld criminals after my blood.”
“It’s your own fault.” Almost there … keep him distracted … “You made a bad business decision. You compounded that by trying to murder Strathaven—and by killing Silas Webb.”
“Webb was a spineless fool. He didn’t have the stomach for greatness and would have given me up when he was caught. No,” Mercer said craftily, “Webb left me no choice.”
“What about Strathaven? It’s not his fault you took a reckless risk.”
“Everything is his fault!” Mercer’s eyes were reptilian with hate, his words hissing. He pushed his face into hers just as her fingers closed around metal. “He left me no resort but to flee like some common criminal. Well, he’s going to pay to the tune of fifty thousand pounds. If he doesn’t, I’ll send you and his aunt back to him—piece by lovely piece.”
Heart thumping, Emma let her shoulders sag as if in defeat; at the same time, her hand slipped behind her back, clutching her prize. “You really have thought of everything.”
“I will be victorious. Like a phoenix, I will rise from the ashes on French soil. Who knows?” A nasty gleam lit Mercer’s eyes. “If you please me, I might keep you alive to see to my pleasures.”
Emma swallowed. “But I thought … aren’t you going to ransom me?”
Mercer’s laugh was short and brutal. “I’m going to get my money. And then I’m going to put an end to Strathaven once and for all.”
“You’re a dishonorable cad!” she cried. “Strathaven is smarter than you—he’ll never fall for your trap!”
Mercer shoved her violently onto the cot, her back smacking the thin mattress. Panting, she kept a firm grip on her stolen treasure.
“He already has, you little whore. He’ll bring me my blunt at nine o’clock sharp—and I’ll put a hole through his heart,” Mercer snarled. “And after I deal with him, I’ll be back for you.”
The door slammed behind him, his barked order filtering through. “No one goes in or out—see to that by any means necessary.”
“Wif pleasure, m’lord,” replied a leering voice.
Instantly, Emma sat up. Looked at the key in her hand. Sending up a prayer, she reached for the manacle on her foot.
Chapter 32
Alaric and the other men reached the appointed destination before dawn. He’d rented out two stage coaches to convey the team of investigators and guards from London to Portsmouth at record speed, so that they could arrive a few hours prior to the meeting with Mercer. Will and his comrades had already taken off on a scouting mission. Disg
uised as porters, the four ex-soldiers were presently conducting reconnaissance on the dock.
Their goals: to find Mercer’s vessel and locate Emma and Patrice.
In the meantime, Alaric and Kent took a suite at an inn. They were guarding the trunks of ransom money and awaiting the arrival of some mysterious associate Kent had said might be helpful to the cause. From the second floor balcony, Alaric watched the ribaldry in the street below. How clever of Mercer to choose this place to conduct his nefarious business.
With all the lawlessness and depravity going on, who would care about two women being held against their will? Who would even notice?
Outside the gate of the old town, Portsmouth Point was known as “Spice Island,” not only for the scent of imported spices that came from the harbor but also for the piquant activities so clearly on display. Whores plied their trade openly in the alleys, sailors and dockhands stumbled in and out of the public houses that lined both sides of the street. Brawls broke out with regularity, cheered on by drunken bystanders.
Alaric’s hands fisted with impotence. If Mercer so much as touches a hair on Emma’s head ... He was unwilling to contemplate that possibility. He was going to get her and his aunt back. Then he was going to tear the earl apart limb by limb.
Slowly.
Kent came to stand beside him. “McLeod will find my sister and your aunt. He’s the best there is when it comes to scouting.”
“Aye. But time is running out.” Alaric gave a terse nod at the sky over the harbor.
Already, the horizon was losing its dark opacity. He could make out the forest of masts bobbing on the black water and the fleet of small barges that zipped between the larger ships, ferrying passengers and goods back and forth from the docks. The Byzantine activity of the scene frustrated him further. Which one of those hundreds of ships held Emma and Aunt Patrice prisoner? What was Mercer’s ultimate plan?
“We should review the strategy for the exchange. I still don’t like the idea of you meeting the villain alone,” Kent said.